


The Hills are Alive (with the sound of music)

by CascadedSunsets



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancer Betty Cooper, Dom Jughead Jones, F/M, Inspired by The Sound of Music, I’m 99.9 percent sure you know the story but whatever, Jughead is dominant, Not In A Bad Way Though, Post-World War II, Pretentious Jughead Jones, Self-Harm, Singer Betty Cooper, The rating will probably change when the smut arrives, and also you should totally go watch the movie, betty doesn’t take shit from anyone, bettys a nun, bettys babysitting all seven of them lmao, bughead - Freeform, but they’re pretty nice so it’s ok, cause it’s good, if you don’t know the story betty goes to babysit 7 kids, polly has a forbidden romance, prolly will be smut, set in Austria, she doesn’t sing for a living but she can, so it’s the sound of music but with smut lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23975689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CascadedSunsets/pseuds/CascadedSunsets
Summary: As Betty looked up towards the booming (and slightly condescending) mansion above her, she debated taking the step or just turning right back around and going home.——————or, betty is sent to babysit seven children and she’s completely unprepared for what awaits her there.
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Polly Cooper/Sweet Pea
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. The hills have eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!!! This is my new au story that I just thought of doing! so since ao3 makes chapter one notes story notes (ew) I’m putting everything in here. 
> 
> So I watched the sound of music a couple of days ago and i forgot how good it is. Like, it’s really good. I suggest you get familiar with the story if you haven’t already before reading this otherwise you will most certainly be confused. This was super fun to write and I hope you enjoy!! mwah mwah xx

As Betty looked up towards the booming (and slightly condescending) mansion above her, she debated taking the step or just turning right back around and going home.

When Sister Alice had originally told her about this, she had been ecstatic. The chance to be more than a nun at an unknown Austrian church had been one of her dreams for a while. Alas, her father Harold had sent her away on accounts of ‘bad behaviour’, although all Betty had done was get in sorts with a messenger boy she had met in Germany. When she had gotten to the Abbey, it seemed the Sisters there weren’t too fond of her either, whispering words of displeasure whenever she walked by. Sister Gladys had been the worst, and Betty was now beginning to suspect this sudden proposal to leave somehow involved her. 

Whichever way this had come to pass, Betty had been delighted when she had first heard the news, of going to a wealthy Austrian lawyer living in the countryside and looking after his children, of which he was supposedly too busy for. 

On the way though, she had let the what ifs infiltrate her mind, and her anxiety had peaked as she feared that she wouldn’t be competent enough for the man she would be working for, or that the children may not like her. She had spent the short walk from the train station to the house with her nails buried deep in her palms, the sting distracting her from her final destination. Now, as she looked down at her hands, she was relieved to find she hadn’t drawn blood this time; she was sure her new master would’ve been disturbed to find her palms coated in blood once they met. 

Smoothing out her beige black polka dotted day dress (her father had let her keep most of her clothing, fortunately: sometimes in the Abbey at midnight she would dance around in her fancy dresses and pretend she was somewhere else), she began to ascend the stone staircase leading up to the unwelcoming front door. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a few seconds before raising her hand and knocking thrice on the door. 

She waited with baited breath as no sounds indicating someone had heard came from the door. Just as she was about to knock again, the door suddenly clicked and opened and she stared at the man before her. 

“Elizabeth Cooper?” He asked, looking at her expectantly. She cleared her throat and answered,

“It’s Betty.” The man raised an eyebrow and she looked down and started again.

“Yes, I’m Elizabeth.” She looked back up and took in his smart clothing.

”Good. I'm Charles Smith, Mr Jones’ butler. Do come in,” he stepped to the side to allow her to enter, and as she did, she was instantly mesmerised by what she would soon be living in. 

The house was made, if not entirely in marble, the ceilings glistening as the chandeliers reflected light all around the foyer, giving it a beautiful mix between white and brown, lighting up the entire room. She noticed the balcony first, and then the grand staircase that led downstairs, made of (again) marble. 

_Mr Jones must really like marble_ ,  she thought as she descended the stairs downward, faintly acknowledging the butler behind her saying something along the lines of ‘they’ll be down in a minute’. 

She looked around until she came across a room with the lights out. She opened the door to walk in and was instantly met with empty space. The floor was made of polished wood and another chandelier hung right in the centre. A ballroom.

She walked in cautiously, careful not to step on anything that was hidden in the dark, and once she was sure she was safe from falling, she began to twirl around.

She’d missed dancing. It was one of her favourite things to do before she was sent away, and even at the Abbey she’d done it in her free time, safe in the confines of her room. It had always taken her somewhere she was happy, somewhere she could be herself without any consequences. 

After the end of the Second World War, her father had been strict with what she was allowed to do. Dancing was one of the things that was ripped away with her without consent and she was devastated for such a long time. Now, knowing she could dance freely and alone, she felt a part of herself finally coming back to her after so many years of locking itself away. 

A sharp cough from the entrance of the room startled her out of her trance and she swiftly turned around to find another butler (she thought) standing at the door. 

“Miss Cooper?” He asked with a tinge of sheepishness in his voice. She tried to keep her cheeks from burning as she widened her eyes in mortification. 

“Y-Yes,” She stuttered, fixing her hair as best as possible, while inwardly cursing herself for the obvious shake in her voice, “That’s me.”

She made her way to the entrance and stood in front of the man, who rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Frank Fogarty. Mr Jones’ right hand man.” 

“Nice to meet you, Mr Fogarty.” She held her hand out, to which he hesitated before shaking. 

“If you’ll follow me back to the foyer,” he turned and started walking and Betty hurried to catch up with him in her heels. 

Once they arrived, he stood to the side while motioning for her to stand in front of the staircase. He pulled a red whistle out of his front pocket and Betty looked at him in confusion.

“Are you going to—” she was interrupted by a loud high pitched shrill that echoed throughout the room, bouncing on the walls and ringing in her ears. She cringed but refrained from covering them. Suddenly she heard the thud of footsteps marching in perfect synchronisation, seemingly shaking the whole house as seven children marched down the stairs and stood in a horizontal line right in front of her. She stood in surprise as Mr Fogarty blew the whistle two short times, and the group of children took a step forward, yelling a ‘hut!’. Through her surprise, Betty gave a small smile towards the youngest, whose movements were delayed. Mr Fogarty turned to her and said, “They’re yours.” before walking towards the back, eyes still on her and the children. 

Betty took a few moments to compose herself before walking to who she assumed was the eldest of the seven, based on height and order. “Hello,” she started in a soft voice, “what’s your name?” The girl looked back at her in stubbornness. She had long blonde hair and lovely green eyes, pale skin and long eyelashes. She looked a lot like Betty, she realised. 

“Polly.” The girl folded her arms and looked at her firmly. 

“How old are you, Polly?” 

“17 years old.” 

“Well, Polly, 17 years old,” Betty reached out to thumb the bottom of her dress, “this is a lovely colour. The blue brings out your eyes.” She smiled to herself as she saw the hostile look in her eyes soften as she relaxed her stance, bringing her arms down by her waist. 

“Thank you. Nobody here knows the difference.” She thought the she saw the ghost of a smile cross her face. As she moved onto the next child in line, she inwardly sighed in relief at the smile that had already crossed his face. 

“Archie, 15 years old.” He looked at her with such a puppy dog look in his brown eyes she fleetingly thought his tongue would come out and he would start panting. She looked at his ginger hairand smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Archie.”

“I‘d like to be a musician.” She laughed and shook her head, looking at him again.

“Is that so? What do you play?”

“The guitar.”

“Really,” she nodded at him in approval, “one of my favourite instruments. Be sure to dedicate your next song to me, okay?”

He nodded and she beamed at him. His happiness was contagious. She moved on to the next girl in line, noting her look of disgust at her hair. Her own jet black hair was in waves around her shoulders, her dark brown eyes and tanned complexion shining in the light. 

“What is going on with your hair? Did you get trapped in the wind?” Betty frowned and instinctively moved a hand to her hair.

“It feels fine to me,” She furrowed an eyebrow and looked at the girl in skepticism, eyes travelling to the name scribbled in neat writing at the front of her dress, barely visible, but there nonetheless, “..Veronica.”

She scoffed and looked at her again. ”15 years old.” A laugh sounded next to them and Betty turned back to Archie, who was looking at Veronica in amusement. 

“In your dreams, Ron.” He turned back to Betty to explain, “She’s 13. Just turned 13 this year.” Betty hummed in understanding and Veronica huffed in displeasure. 

Betty turned back to Veronica and eyed her hair. “You know, I am in need of a change in hairstyle. If you were available, I’d definitely want you to style it. You seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“Of course I do,” She folded her arms and turned her head, but Betty could see the smile tugging at her lips. 

As she moved on to the next child, she turned to the girl standing next to him and acknowledged their similar looks.  _Twins_ ,  she thought, as she turned to face them both. Both were also ginger, but their hair had a fiery red colour, while Archie’s was more of an orange hue. There was a drastic height difference between them and Veronica, and from their reserved stance Betty could tell they were shyer than the others. 

“Hello there,” she started, her voice lowering its volume and increasing its pitch, “What’re your names?”

The boy spoke first, voice timid, “Jason.”

She nodded at him in encouragement and then spoke to the girl, “and yours, dear?” 

Her voice was louder. “Cheryl.” 

“And how old are you two?” They held up five fingers each, and Betty was quick to put two and two together. 

“You’re ten.” They smiled in delight and nodded. 

“You’re smart,” Jason said, voice growing louder. 

“Thank you.” She smiled at them and moved onto the next child. He had brown hair cut into a practical haircut and wore smart casual clothing. He smiled up at her and she smiled back. 

“I’m Kevin and I’m eight years old.” She nodded and noticed the book clutched in his hand. 

“What book is that?” 

“The ABC murders by Agatha Christie. It helps me with the alphabet.” He grinned and she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Agatha Christie? Not bad.” Something in her told her that calling him ‘too young’ wouldn’t go down well.

“Thanks. I’m halfway through. It’s really good.”

“I’m sure it is.” She smiled widely and moved onto the last child. She was shorter than the rest, and so she had to crouch down to reach her height. Her brown hair and big brown eyes screamed innocence, but Betty chuckled at the faint traces of pink that appeared at the ends. 

“Hey there, sweetheart,” she reached out to touch her cheek, “what do they call you?”

“That’s Toni.” A voice supplied helpfully from above her. She looked up and smiled at Kevin once more before looking back down at Toni. 

“And how old are you, Toni?”

“I’m five.”

“Five?” She nodded. Betty touched the ends of her hair, the pink tips visible to her now that she’d seen them.

“Did you colour your hair pink?” she nodded again and pulled out a black pen. Betty looked at it in puzzlement.

“I mixed it with daddy’s pink ink,” she explained, “because I’m a big girl, and I love pink.” Betty nodded and smiled softly.

“Well, I think it looks great.” Toni smiled at her shyly and Betty climbed to full height. She turned to all seven of them, and noticed the contrast in each of their features.  _ There’s no way they’re all related,  _ she thought, but smiled widely at them all anyway.

“Well, children, I’m Betty Cooper, and I’m looking after you while your father works.”

A loud whistle stopped her and she turned behind her to look for Mr Fogarty, the previous blower, only to find that he was no longer there. She turned back to see the children had turned around and there was a man at the top of the staircase. She couldn’t see his face but at once she knew who he was, if his authoritative demeanour was anything to go by. His low voice boomed through the hall, dripping with power. Her breath hitched.

“Good afternoon, Miss Cooper,” he started to walk down the staircase, hands behind his back, nodding at her in greeting. “I’m Mr Jones. The children’s father.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a longer chapter. Warning- mentions of abuse. It’s infinitesimal and at the very very end but i thought you should know. Thank you! :))

The first thing Betty thought as she watched him walk down the staircase was:  _beautiful_. And he was. He was definitely not the man she had pictured when she had first learned about him, but she wasn’t complaining, and since Betty was all about words not having genders, she wasn’t afraid to admit it.

In her head, of course.

His skin was an olive toned colour (again, a sharp contrast to the children that were supposedly his), and his jaw was defined and set. He looked about her age, if not a few years older. Even from afar she could tell his eyelashes were longer than most. His dark obsidian hair was mostly slicked back, save for the curl dangling across his forehead. He had a lean but muscled figure, not too overboard, and, as he came closer, strikingly deep blue eyes that were filled with the ocean and more. 

She had to purse her lips to keep from drooling. God, she was objectifying a man.And her  _boss_ ,  no doubt. That would be enough to get her in trouble. 

He reached the foot of the stairs and stood behind the children, who had turnedback around to face her. He was eyeing Betty with mostly strict greeting, but also with a mix of...intrigue? She couldn’t tell. He waved his hands in motion towards the children in front of him. “I trust you’ve been acquainted with my children?”

She nodded, before finding her voice and speaking up. “Yes. I know the basics.”

“Good.” He jutted out his chin in approval before taking out the red whistle and blowing it three short times. “Dismissed, children.” While six of the seven children raced back up the stairs, the youngest - Toni, she reminded herself - bounded up to her father and pulled on his hand. His originally guarded expression softened immensely as he looked down at her. It took effort for Betty to stop her heart from melting. 

“What’s wrong, Tones?” Toni pulled at her hair, showing the ends to her father, whose eyes widened before twinkling with amusement. “Is your hair pink, dear?”

“I coloured it with ink,” Toni giggled. He turned to the side to face her and Betty noted the small pattern of moles littering his right cheek, joining together in a gorgeous constellation. “Where did you get ink from?”

“Your room.” He tutted and looked down at her in a combination of disappointment and mirth. 

“What did I tell you about going into my room?” He began in a gentle voice, continuing when she looked down sheepishly, “Not without my permission, my sweet. Okay?” He raised an eyebrow at her in faux pointedness. 

“I’m sorry Daddy,” she apologised, looking up at him through her eyelashes, and Betty could tell she was anything but.

“Of course you are. Go on,” he patted her back as she ran upstairs. He turned to her and in a flash his fond expression was gone, replaced with hard, stoic features. Betty repressed the urge to sigh in disappointment. They just met, for heavens sake, was she expecting him to be in love with her? He inched slightly closer to her and she was almost certain he gave her a once over.

“Elizabeth, is it?” He asked in a low voice. 

“Betty, please.” She replied and he nodded.

“I’ll show you to your room, Betty.” She felt her mouth water at the way her name tumbled out of his lips. He turned and walked up the stairs and she followed him.He turned right and she followed him down a hallway where she assumed the children slept. The walls were a weird lightgreen-white colour and paintings littered them. As they walked by, she made out some faint giggling coming from the room next to her. She smiled to herself. Even if they weren’t related, it was clear the children got along. 

A particularly big picture caught her eye. A woman was sat, face stone cold and looking straight at the camera. Her hands were clasped together in her lap and one of her legs were crossed over the other. Her blonde hair was short and straight, kept back by a black headband. Her lips were painted a pale red and her eyes were a flattering hazel colour. Betty’s breath caught. She was stunning. She tore her eyes away and found Mr Jones quite a bit ahead of her. She hurried to catch up and nearly collided with him when he came to an abrupt stop right next to another room door. He turned around and her face flushed at his expression. “Your room. Your belongings have already been taken here. Dinner is at 7 pm sharp. Don’t be late.” Without another word, he turned and walked further down the hall. 

Betty pursed her lips and opened the door. It was an average room. Not too glamorous, not too cozy. There was a queen sized bed in the middle, and there was a large window to the side, and a desk on the other. She found her bag plopped right in the middle of the floor, still sealed. She bent down to pick it up and put it on her bed, when she heard noises from her window. It sounded like talking. She walked slowly towards it and drew the curtains slightly to look outside. There was a man. He looked like a messenger boy. He had a bag clasped around his side. He was tall and dark and had short black hair. He was talking to a girl. They were both smiling and the girl was playing with his jacket. At first she couldn’t see her face as her back was turned to her, but when they kissed goodbye and she turned around to go back inside, her eyes widened and a knowing smile slowly cast itself over her face. The girl disappeared inside the house and Betty turned away from the window and shook her head in amusement.  _ Should’ve known Polly had a man _ _,_ she mused. 

————

It was uncomfortably silent at dinner, save for the occasional clang of cutlery on plates. Betty stared down at her meat and rice meal, prodding the meat quietly with her fork. A loud voice amongst the silence nearly made her jump out of her seat as she looked up to the man seated at the far end of the table. 

“Betty, you come from the Abbey downtown, correct?” his voice made the other children look up, staring at the exchange. She gulped and replied,

“Yes. I’ve been there since I was a teenager.”

“And how old are you now?” She was slightly taken aback by his somewhat rude question, but she brushed it off.

“I’m, uh, 29.” He nodded once and looked back down at his plate. Betty felt the heat creep up her neck as she too stared back at her meal, beginning to prod again.

She felt someone drop their cutlery from next to her.

“Father, may be I be excused? I’m finished,” Polly asked, staring at him in question.

“Yes, you may go.” He waved her off and she got out of her chair a little hastily and exited the room. Betty watched her leave in bewilderment but tore her eyes away from the entryway, focusing instead on the patterned napkin beside her plate. 

“You haven’t eaten,” she looked up to find him staring back at her, a question in his eyes.

“Oh. I’m terribly sorry, I’m afraid I’m not hungry.”

“I see,” he nodded again, not taking his eyes off her, “if you’d like, you may go. If you have nothing else to do here.”

Betty felt a twang of disappointment that he was suggesting she leave, but she quickly banished it, knowing she had no right. 

“Yes, I suppose I should. Thank you,” she got up from her chair gracefully and swiftly exited the room. She felt his eyes staring into the back of her head and she walked a little faster.

————-

Betty stared at the heavy rain keeping her from slumber. The thunder was something she used to fear, but now she barely flinched. They got it a lot louder at the Abbey. She looked away from the window and at the half empty suitcase still sat at the foot of her bed. She had yet to completely unpack, for whatever reason, and so her eyes stared holes into the bag, dreading the job she would have to finish in the morning. 

Slowly, she unwrapped herself from her large duvet and padded to the attached bathroom at the opposite end of her room. Locking the door behind her, she braced her hands on the sides of the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her brow furrowed at the bags currently residing under her eyes, and the spots appearing on her cheeks. Her figure was thinner, less curvy than when she’d first become a nun. She hadn’t had much sleep lately, mostly due to the growing anticipation at leaving that was constantly eating at her insides, and she frowned at the effect it had had on her body. She certainly wasn’t ugly, no, she knew that much, but she wasn’t absolutely breathtaking either. She sighed and ran the water, spraying it on her face as if it would rid her of all her imperfections.

Just as she was drying herself off with a nearby towel, a loud knock sounded through her room, startling her, and she opened the bathroom door and looked around. She couldn’t immediately see anyone, so she made her way to her bedroom door, pulling it open and hiding in frustration as nobody stared back at her. She closed it again and made to go back to bed when the knock sounded again, this time closer to the left. She slowly walked over to her window, opening the curtains more than they had already been and almost jumping back at the girl looking back at her. She quickly undid the bolt on her window and lifted it up, staring at her in confusion before moving to the side to grant her access. She climbed in and turned to face Betty, looking down at her feet in embarrassment. 

“Polly? For heaven’s sake, you’re soaked! Here,” she led her to her bathroom and rummaged for a clean nightgown in a nearby drawer, before thrusting it into her hands, “Go in there and wash all the rain off. When you’re done, put this on and then we’re talking about this. Okay?” Polly nodded feebly and closed the bathroom door behind her. Betty closed the window once more, sitting back down on her bed and shaking her head in astonishment. Why had Polly been out so late? And in the pouring rain? It didn’t make sense. 

A particularly loud rumble of thunder followed by a crash of lightning made her tut. Polly could have been hurt. Badly. She barely had time to dwell on it when more unexpected visitors appeared in her room, not even bothering to knock. She blinked twice at the two children, who were frantically looking around the room as if the storm had followed them in. Their eyes finally met Betty’s and they stared, eyes wide in fear. Betty sighed and patted the space on the bed next to her twice, an unspoken welcome. She could see their shoulders visibly sag in relief as they all but ran to the bed, finding comfort in the warmth of the duvet. 

“Toni...” she looked at the other current member of her bed, “Veronica..what’s the problem?” Veronica sat up abruptly and folded her arms, the same stubborn look cast across her features as when they had first met. 

“Toni was afraid, so I brought her here so she would leave me alone. It’s not like I was scared or anything. It’s just a—” as if on cue, an extremely loud crack of thunder echoed throughout the whole room. Veronica yelped and sank further into the duvet. Toni turned to Betty, a cross look on her face. 

“I was not scared,” she started, pointing at Veronica in accusation, “Ronnie was and she woke me up.”

“Did not,” Veronica seethed, before turning to face Betty. “I may have been a little surprised–” she was cut short by Toni giggling. The latter stopped short at Veronica’s side-eye. “–as I was saying, I may have been a little surprised when I heard the storm was coming, but I didn’t want poor TT to be afraid, as she was, so I brought her to this room to see if you could calm her down. After all, isn’t that why you’re here? To babysit?” She scoffed, “like I need a babysitter.” 

“How did you even know I was staying in this room?”

“It used to be mother’s room. Father is obsessed with forgetting about her. It only made sense he’d shove you in here.” Her reply was said in a matter-of-fact tone, but Betty wasn’t an idiot. She could see the guarded pain behind Veronica’s eyes. A part of her was slightly upset that Mr Jones had had a wife, but she quickly pushed that aside in order to comfort the pained girl in front of her. She couldn’t tell her that he wasn’t, because she didn’t even know herself, but she did say what she could. 

“Veronica, I’m not going to tell you that Mr Jones isn’t trying to forget about your mother because I don’t know that for sure. What I do know is that nobody’s telling you that you shouldn’t think about her or that you shouldn’t miss her, wherever she is. You understand that, right?” Veronica played it off, looking down at her nails, but Betty could see that her resolve was slowly cracking, each cut growing deeper with every comforting word Betty said. 

“Yeah, sure.” Betty nodded and turned her attention to Toni. It was obvious she had tuned out at some point, inspecting and picking at the woven pattern on the duvet,and Betty’s heart hurt at her oblivious demeanour and the obvious sign that she hadn’t known her mother at all. 

Another loud crack of thunder shook the room and this time it was followed by the opening of the bathroom door. Polly strode out, wet clothes in hand and dry clothes worn on, looking perfectly put together. The sight of her twenty minutes ago sharply contradicted that observation and it almost made Betty laugh. She stood up from the bed and approached her, arms out, curling her fingers inward, motioning to the wet clothes in her hands. Polly was currently frozen, staring at the two girls occupying the bed. 

“What are they doing here?” She shout-whispered, turning to Betty and handing over the wet clothes.

“We can still hear you,” Veronica drawled from the bed. Polly eyed her, a sour expression on her face. Throwing the wet clothes in the nearby hamper, Betty shrugged at her.

“They were scared,” She started, ignoring Veronica’s ‘Toni was scared!’ from beside her, “They ran in just after you disappeared inside the bathroom.”

“Okay, but, can I talk to you? Alone?” Betty was slightly taken aback at Polly’s request but she recovered quickly, nodding at her and giving her a slight smile. She took her wrist and led her outside and into the hallway, closing the door behind her. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“It’s about me coming in through the window.” Betty nodded slowly.

“I’m sure you know–“ the sudden forefinger to her lips silenced her, and she went cross eyed trying to look at it, before looking back at Betty, a question in her eyes.

“Sshh,” she shushed, removing her finger from Polly’s lips and pointing at the door. She knew how children worked. She didn’t have any siblings but she had a niece and she would always pull stuff like this. She used her finger to point at the door, eyeing Polly and seeing the realisation form in her eyes, which slowly turned into frustration. She nodded at her and Betty quickly opened the door, stepping back and watching as the two girls behind it fell into the hallway. She looked down at them in amusement and tutted twice.

“Nice try,” she sang, repressing her laugh as Veronica looked up at her in irritation. 

“Are you two serious?!” Polly cried from beside them. Veronica quickly stood up, pulling Toni up with her, and regarded her with an unreadable expression.

“I just wanted to know if you were talking about me.”

“Why would be possibly be talking about you??” Polly shot back, face heating up with annoyance. 

Veronica shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Polly groaned and pushed them both back to their room.

“Stay there until we’re done!” She cried, slamming the door. She walked back to Betty and didn’t meet her eyes.

“You already know about Sweet, don’t you?”

“Who?” Betty spoke softly, not wanting to scare her.

“Sweet Pea. The man I’ve been meeting.”

_Oh_. 

“I saw the way you looked at me when I left dinner. You knew exactly where I was going, didn’t you?” Polly asked, but it was rhetorical, like she didn’t even need the confirmation. 

“I saw you two together after your father gave me this room. You looked happy with him, Polly.”

“I am, you wouldn’t believe it, I really am,” she smiled in reminiscence and Betty couldn’t help but smile back. 

“But Father doesn’t want me dating. He’s really protective over me.” Polly’s smile morphed into a frown, and Betty’s, in turn, dropped as well. 

“Plus, Sweet’s going away once he turns 18. To help fix the country after the war.” Polly’s eyes cast downward towards the floor, hooded in disdain. Betty slowly guided her eyes back to hers, hands on her shoulders.

“Polly. Why is your father protective over you?” She blinked twice before answering,

“What?”

“If he doesn’t want you dating then there must be a reason.”

Polly looked away again, mumbling an incoherency.

“What was that?” She took a deep breath before answering, louder this time.

“A boy...when I was 16. He..uh...he hit me a lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! <33


End file.
